


The Last Standing

by Yeoyou



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Grief/Mourning, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeoyou/pseuds/Yeoyou
Summary: When Luke, Alex, and Reggie die, Bobby is the one left behind. Struggling to find new meaning and new music in his life, while missing the ones he lost.An exploration of the steps that turned Bobby from Sunset Curve into Trevor Wilson.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 72





	1. The Last Sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_Dwarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Dwarf/gifts).



> This was a rather unexpected story to happen (and was actually the first JatP one to come knocking, though it's not the first finished and posted). It all started with me noticing (on my nth rewatch) that Trevor's initial response to seeing Alex appear on stage is not shock or guilt or fear but pure longing for those he's lost. The other emotions will catch up to him, no doubt, but that first look? He's seeing someone he's thought lost for the last 25 years, that he never expected to see again.
> 
> So yeah, I felt the need to explore how he got from Bobby to Trevor and just who he is. He's also never struck me as actively malicious and seems to care about his daughter so sorta redemption story it is (as in: I don't think what he did was right but it's understandable in this fic). Plus, it's Steve Bacic. What can I say, I've had a weakness for him ever since _Andromeda_ and his unforgettable role as Dr. Sexy MD on _Supernatural_...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Eternal thanks to Black_Dwarf for encouraging me to write this and keeping me company in JatP hell!!! <3
> 
> This chapter is the one with the angst!

“Come on.” The voice is distant, muffled by the static in Bobby‘s head. He dimly feels the pressure of a hand taking his, stumbles after the vague outline of the girl and finds himself in a car, feet pushing against empty bottles and knickknack, the scent of cheap air freshener in his nose.

_ This can’t be happening. _

The sweat from their sound check is cooling rapidly on his skin, making him shiver.

_ This isn’t happening. _

But it is and as they’re following the flashing blue lights to the hospital, everything in him shrinks, collapses into a hungry black hole eating him from the inside.

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling but the intensity of it is.

When they finally reach the hospital, delayed by traffic lights the ambulances ignored, the guys are already inside and he doesn’t even catch a glimpse of them. He can see them nevertheless. Three bodies on stretchers. The cuff of Alex’s pink sweater, and Luke’s blue hoodie. Reggie’s fingers dangling over the side, twitching with a melody only he can hear. Clammy skin and glassy eyes and—

He wrenches the door open and vomits, feels the girl’s—Rose’s?—hand rubbing his back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I‘m … ” He trails off. He’s not okay.

He catches sight of a police car and ducks his head inside again.

“I can’t go in there,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, and the black hole grows tentacles.

“It’s okay. I’ll go with you. We can wait together.”

“No, it’s …” He bites his lip, the taste of bile still in his throat and he fights the nausea down. “They’ll ask questions.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the cops.

Rose glances over and furrows her brow before settling her gaze back on him. Scrutinizes him. She’s smart. She doesn’t say ‘but you had nothing to do with it,’ doesn’t suggest that they clear up whatever ‘misunderstanding’ there might be. Only nods.

“Wait here.”

She rummages in the back seat and unearths a plastic bottle of water, still half full, and shoves it into his hands.

And then she’s gone and all he can do is curl up into a ball and welcome the darkness swallowing him.

* * *

Bobby crashes at Rose’s place for ten days because he has nowhere else to go. The drive to the hospital was a blur but the drive back is a blank in his memory.

They hadn’t even made it to the hospital alive! What kind of fucked up street dogs did that?

It’s beyond belief, the thought slippery, and his brain can’t get any purchase on it.

He exists, while Luke, Alex, and Reggie have slipped away, and he can’t grasp it because they’re still so alive, still so vibrant in his mind. Grinning, and singing, and horsing around, shredding on their instruments. Enthusiastic and loud.

He feels himself thinning and his continued solidity surprises him in odd moments.

He accepts the teas Rose forces on him, even though he never liked tea, the hot ceramic burning his skin unnoticed. He eats, probably, though he can never taste what.

He guesses he’s lucky that he’s still alive but it doesn’t feel that way.

Rose keeps saying “I’m sorry” but that means nothing because it’s not her fault, none of it is and why does he keep wishing he’d been there with them, eating the street dog alongside his bandmates where he’d belonged?

He’d always been the least talented of them so why is he the last standing? All that’s left of Sunset Curve?

Him, a demo, and a bunch of badly made shirts.

He knows he can’t stay. He can’t stay here and he can’t stay Bobby. Well, it’s not the first time he’s changed his name and it’s not the first time he’s alone. He’ll manage.

When he closes the door to Rose’s apartment, he leaves nothing behind but a note and some flowers he nicked from the neighbour’s garden. It’s not enough but it’s all he can give.

* * *

He tries out a few different cities, different names, a new one in every youth shelter that’ll give him a place to sleep for the night and a semi-hot meal, until he settles for Trevor. It feels sophisticated, like a man he’d want to become, and less childish than Bobby.

He tries out a few bands, too. But none of them even come close to Sunset Curve and he never clicks with any of them the way he did with Luke, Alex, and Reggie.

Their memories try to keep him company but he pushes them away. He’s learned his lesson. Family is not for him. Not his parents, just faceless shapes hardly remembered. Not the various foster homes, he’d slipped in and out of, unwanted. Not these three boys that had been like brothers to him, had taken him in when nobody else would.

So maybe it’s better this way. Because then, at least, he has nobody to lose.

And nobody to hurt.

Because there is another reason that he tries to push the memories down where they can’t find him.

It began as a faint tingling at the back of his mind, numbed like everything else, while he lay on Rose’s couch and waited for voices he’d never hear again. And then the feeling grew claws, hooking into his conscience, and started whispering.

_ Be careful what you wish for. _

The memories in his head are as blurred as his words were slurred that night but their edges are sharp enough to cut deep.

He remembers a man, though he couldn’t say what he looked like.

He remembers arguing with the bartender about the validity of his ID and his age, both faked, and the drink the stranger had offered him.

He remembers the guys’ disappointed looks when he’d turned up to their practice late and drunk. They’d been good boys at heart, despite the rock attitude.

And somewhere in-between, there had been words. Confessions he shouldn’t have made. Wishes he shouldn’t have disclosed because they were dark, and vicious, and ungrateful. But they’d slipped out of him anyway.

That he wished he were the star of Sunset Curve.

That he wished the guys would let off bugging him.

Though he knew they were the ones in the right. That they were the ones truly gifted where he was just talented. That they cared.

These were thoughts and wishes that only crept out in the dark hours, and should have stayed hidden.

He knows it’s stupid of course. It’s not like he wished them dead. Or had killed them himself. But the guilt is there, gnawing little holes into all the good memories.

And so he shoves everything down and leaves Sunset Curve and Bobby behind to become Trevor Wilson.


	2. The Edge of Fame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it, the questionable decision that robbed Luke and the boys of their legacy ...

Trevor’s musical career is a mess and yet he can’t quite let it go. Plays for passers-by at the beach, trying to earn a few bucks to increase his meagre income from the pizza place. He auditions and jumps at every open mic he can find, years creeping by.

But his music doesn’t connect. Not the way Luke’s songs did.

So he plays “Crooked Teeth” one night in a bar, after the girl with her weird Egyptian inspired poem about death and the afterlife has sat down again to lukewarm applause. Because Sunset Curve’s songs have never left him. Nestled in his fingertips, at the back of his throat, waiting.

And he misses them. The songs, the music, and most of all the boys.

The roaring applause when he finishes catches him completely by surprise. He’d forgotten the audience, the venue with its smell of cheap beer and the dim lights.

But he grins.

* * *

“Do you have more songs like that?”

The guy asking the question has a paunch and looks as un-rock’n’roll as possible but Trevor knows appearances can be deceiving.

“Maybe?”

He also knows to be wary of strangers.

“That was really good, pal. There’s a market for that kind of stuff if you go about it the right way. It would sound better with a whole band though.”

Trevor nods, and tries not to think of Alex, and Reggie. And of Luke whose voice, when he’d taught them the song, is still so clear in his mind.

The guy holds out a card and Trevor accepts it, reads “manager,” and there’s a tiny hope in his chest that maybe this is the moment he’s been waiting for ever since their performance at the Orpheum was toppled by tragedy.

The hope burns, because he knows it’s not his song, that lyrics nicked from a dead guy brought him here, but it’s more warmth than he has felt in a long time, and so he clutches it closer.

* * *

To say that the album is a success is an understatement. Critics love it, fans pop up all over the world, and suddenly, Trevor Wilson is no longer some nobody wannabe from Hollywood but a star.

A rock star.

It’s all his dreams come true. Well, actually it’s Luke’s dream come true, isn’t it? Because all of the songs on the record have been penned by the former lead singer of Sunset Curve. The melodies worked out between the four of them.

But at least they’re getting heard now, right?

At least now the world sings the chorus to “Get Lost” under the shower and turns up the radio when “Long Weekend” comes on air.

Does it really matter if Trevor didn’t write the songs? The connection to the world that Luke kept on and on about is there. It can’t hurt Luke and the others. Because they are dead and buried and fame and money mean nothing to the dead.

But for him, it’s his one chance to do what he really loves.

And as for their families … well. They don’t deserve the money. None of it. Because if they had been better to their sons, more supportive, more accepting, then Luke, Alex, and Reggie wouldn’t have had to live off shady hot dogs and hamburgers to survive—or get killed by them.

No, as far as Trevor is concerned, their negligence has been the first nail in the coffin. They’d broken their hearts and then left them to bite the dust.

Trevor swears that if he ever has children—and to his surprise he finds he wants them—he will support them unquestioningly. Will support them with all the means at his disposal, no matter what their dreams are. Or their sexual preferences.

* * *

“It is perfectly normal for someone who has as much success as you have to feel undeserving of it.”

Dr. Crystal’s voice is smooth and warm; not at all like a rock, thinks Trevor.

He’s lying on a couch, fists balled by his side, and tries to relax. Tries to listen.

“And being a first-time parent is a great change and challenge for anyone. Even for a rock star.”

His thoughts wander to his perfect little daughter, just two months old, and his heart swells. The thought that anything could happen to her sits like a monster in his throat.

“I keep dreaming of losing her.”

His voice is hoarse, and it’s not the alcohol and drugs—both of which he’s given up the moment Sonya revealed her pregnancy—but the tears pushing against his eyelids.

“I know it’s frightening but there is no reason to suspect that she will come to any harm. She has loving parents and your wealth means she will be provided for. Most children are in a much worse situation.”

Doesn’t he know!

But still.

Now that he has everything, he can’t help but feel that it will all come crashing down. He’s risen too far, on borrowed fame, and karma is a bitch.

As long as it was just his life, he could have dealt with it but now there’s Carrie and if she ever gets hurt because of his actions, he won’t be able to forgive himself. His love for her is ferocious and he knows he will do anything to keep her safe.

* * *

The divorce is messy and expensive but Trevor doesn’t really care. Sonya agrees that Carrie should live with him and that’s all that matters. She wants to pursue her career, she says, though Trevor also knows that he’s stifling her, becoming less than what she had expected by marrying a rock star.

He is surprisingly homey now that there’s a kid to look after and doesn’t care as much about his own career or the rock’n’roll life. He’s all about the healthy lifestyle now. Reading up on meditation and cleanses.

In Sonya’s eyes, he’s become boring.

He couldn’t give a fuck. He can’t even pretend his heart is broken when he was never really that much in love with her anyway. He just wishes she’d keep it down for Carrie’s sake.

Trying to shield her from the worst is his main concern in the whole affair.


	3. Petals of a Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of Rose :D

“I’ve found her.”

Trevor sits up straight, just catching the guitar sliding off his lap.

“Her name’s Rose Molina now and she still lives in Hollywood.”

“Rose Molina, huh?”

There have been a lot of girls in his past but Rose is the one he will never forget. Even if most of his time with her is a blur of pain and darkness. 

Moving back to Hollywood was not an easy decision to make. But it seemed right and ever since he’d bought the house above Malibu beach the memory of Rose has been swirling through his mind.

A note and some flowers had not been enough and she deserved more. Especially now he has more to give.

Even if it potentially means waking some sleeping ghosts.

“She has a daughter Carrie’s age, too.”

Trevor grins. “Good for her!”

The PI slides a sheet with contact info over to him and Trevor fights against the tremor in his fingers as he grabs for it.

His nerves just get steadily worse as he drives to the address the PI dug up for him.

An address he well remembers.

Is it just coincidence? Or karma, rearing her head, sneering at him and promising that his time will come?

He gets out of the car swiftly because otherwise he wouldn’t get out of it at all, and employs the same strategy when he arrives at the doorbell.

The house is still nice. Probably even nicer than fifteen years ago. The old couple who had rented the garage out to Luke and his band must be long dead by now. He wonders what they did with the stuff he and the guys had left there.

His eyes are drawn towards the little path leading down to the studio. There’s an echo in his head, of songs and laughter and voices he hasn’t heard in too long.

His hands are sweating.

When the door opens, it’s not Rose who appears in it, but a gangly man in jeans and t-shirt, with a little girl hanging on his leg. The husband.

Molina’s jaw drops. “You’re … you’re Trevor Wilson!” His voice is raspy with surprise, eyes going wide.

Trevor rubs his neck and grins sheepishly.

“Yeah … I am.” At least, these days he is. It suddenly occurs to him that if he reveals himself to Rose, she will no doubt share any information with this husband of hers. Mr. Molina had not exactly factored into his plans. Though maybe he already knows? But looking at the starstruck guy, he doubts it. Either Rose never made the connection between Bobby and Trevor or she hadn’t told her husband.

He clears his throat. “Is your wife home? Rose?”

“Rose?” It’s like Molina’s never heard the name before but it’s probably just the shock. Granted, having an international rock icon appear on your doorstep, asking for your wife would throw any guy for a loop.

“Yeah.”

Still sounding dumbstruck, Molina eventually seems to remember the mother of his daughter and answers: “She’s in the studio.”

Trevor’s gaze is once more drawn to the little path, before Molina can indicate it, and when he looks back at the man, Molina’s brows are furrowed.

But Trevor’s in no mood to explain. There are certain advantages to being a rock star and behaving erratically is one of them. He just mumbles “thanks,” turns around and walks down a path his feet remember well—even if it’s been years and not just his shoes have gotten a definitive upgrade since then.

The white paint of the garage’s double doors has clearly been reapplied at least once since the mid-90s. It almost seems too bright but the pain behind his eyes does not come from paint. It’s spreading and his limbs go numb.

_ I can't do this. I can't ... _

He's about to turn around and flee, not caring what Molina will think or tell his wife, but then the door opens and there's a woman there, the ghost of the girl he once, briefly, knew hiding behind her features.

“Rose.”

Rose starts at the sound of her name and looks up, eyes going as wide as her husband's as she recognises him. But whom does she recognise? Trevor, the rock star, or Bobby, the broken guitarist from a band that never made it?

The initial moment of shock gone, Rose narrows her eyes, studies him with suspicion and finally ventures an uncertain “Bobby?”

He nods, sighing with relief.

“Yeah.”

Rose puts down the paint cans she'd been carrying and crosses her arms.

“I'd always wondered but I wasn't sure it was really you.”

He rubs his neck.

“I ... didn't particularly want to be Bobby any more. You know, after ...”

She nods.

“So what brought you here after all these years?”

“Can we … uh, talk somewhere?”

“Sure.” She indicates the studio, of course, and Trevor, Bobby, whoever he is at this moment, draws in a deep breath.

“It's really good to see you.”

Rose and he have settled into the couch and armchair respectively and Trevor tries hard not to hyperventilate, remembers Dr. Crystal's breathing techniques, her grounding mechanisms, and it takes them all not to freak out.

“You know we rehearsed here?”

“Really?!” She perks up, looks around. “Here?”

He nods.

“I didn't. Know, that is.” She considers him. “This must bring up painful memories.”

He nods again, tries to focus on her face. Older but still very handsome, the same sharp intellect and ready wit shining in her eyes.

“So?” She arches her eyebrow.

“I had a PI find you.” The eyebrow crawls up higher. “I ... uh, didn't really have that much to go on. It's all a bit of a blur.” He shrugs apologetically.

“I can imagine.”

His fingers tap out a rhythm on the armrest.

“I ... wanted to thank you. Properly this time.” He suddenly realises that he didn't even bring flowers or anything else. His 'proper' thank you is turning out to be still falling short miserably.

Rose smiles. “You did thank me. How did you know dahlias were my favourite flowers?”

“Huh?”

“The ones you left? Although Mrs Collins complained about somebody vandalising her garden the next day …”

He blushes but she just grins and so he shrugs sheepishly.

“Happy coincidence?”

Rose laughs.

“So why Trevor?”

He shrugs again. “I liked the sound of it, I guess. It was the name I had when my manager found me so it stuck …“

“Don't you miss being Bobby?”

“That wasn't my real name either.” He holds up a hand. “And before you ask me, no I wasn't on the run from the law back then because I was a murderer or anything. I'd run away from my foster home and  _ really _ didn't want to be dragged back there.”

She nods and smiles and he’s grateful she isn’t asking about that. Though the question she does ask isn’t any less laden with complicated feelings.

“What is your real name then?”

He hesitates. He hasn't thought about that name in a long time. Hasn't told it to anyone in even longer. But Rose already knows Bobby. He can trust her with this as well.

“Steve. Steve Podvoric. Son of Croatian immigrants. But that's about as much as I know, too.”

“Didn't you ever try to find out more?”

He shakes his head. His parents, and their family back in Croatia—if there is any—are no more real than ghosts to him. There's no connection and nothing he wants from them. And nothing he feels obliged to give them.

“So,” he clears his throat. “Molina seems like a nice guy.” He nods back in the direction of the house.

Rose smiles, and love shines in her face, lighting it up.

“Ray is a good man. And a good husband and father.”

“Yeah, I saw the little girl. She's cute.”

“Julie. She can be a handful.” Rose's grin is definitely proud now.

“I've got a daughter her age. Maybe … uh, maybe you and Julie would like to visit some time? I'd be nice for Carrie to have somebody to play with.”

“I'll … think about that.”

“Of course … uh, what's his—,  _ Ray _ , is welcome too.”

“I appreciate it.” She laughs, and there's a twinkle in her eyes.

It's been a while since he's felt this nervous around anyone, and that's not just because the place is still giving him the creeps.

He gets up to leave, wiping his sweating hands on his jeans.

“I … would be grateful if you could keep the Bobby thing to yourself.”

She considers him again with that unsettling stare of hers that seems to look right into his soul. “I'm not lying to my husband.”

“No! And I wouldn't ask you to. But … maybe … you could just say that you knew me from before I was famous and once did me a favour? That is the truth after all.”

“Some favour!”

He bites his lip, waiting.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I'll think about it. But whether or not I tell Ray everything, I promise it will stay in this house”

* * *

Rose and Julie come to visit about a week later and it's been a nerve-wracking seven days for Trevor. Rose gives no indication how much she's told her husband and he doesn't dare ask about it.

His guests are duly impressed with the mansion as he gives them the tour.

“You really made it, huh?”

Trevor tries to downplay it, too acutely aware where all the fame and fortune sprung from, but Rose seems to be genuinely happy for him. He can't quite grasp why, had rather expected at least some jealousy, seeing how Rose and the Petal Pushers never made it, nor any of her other bands. He'd come across a demo once and though unpolished, there was clear talent.

But once again he's grateful to her, and once the girls are introduced and seem to take a liking to each other, he begins to relax.

It's nice, actually, to have someone in his life who knows at least a little bit about his past, about the guy he used to be before all the fame. And who remembers Sunset Curve, Luke, Alex, and Reggie. Even if Rose had only known the guys for two hours tops, it was still a part of his life he didn't share with anybody else.

Watching the two girls play, he knows he's made the right decision in re-establishing contact.


	4. Falling Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Rose is _not_ happy when she finds out about the roots of Trevor's success...

Julie—and, to some extent, Rose—soon become a staple at the Wilson mansion and Carrie visits the Molina house often enough that driving up to the familiar address loses some of its bad associations.

He's glad that Carrie gets to socialise with “normal” kids and the Molinas are definitely a good influence on her. Plus, they're very into music.

He isn't sure whether to be happy that Carrie shows aspirations to follow in his footsteps. He's proud, definitely, when she tells him she wants to make music like he does, but when she adds that she hopes she'll be as talented as he is, he has to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“You'll be much better than your daddy, baby girl!”

She beams and dances away on light feet, leaving him with mixed feelings.

It doesn't help that Julie Molina is one hell of a gifted little girl.

He's fond of her but watching his own daughter work so hard for something that seems to come so easily to Julie wrenches his heart. It reminds him too much of his own struggles.

Carrie gets all the best instructors he can hire for her, of course, but though he praises and encourages her wherever he can—to the point where she begins to roll her eyes at him—he can still see the truth and he's afraid that Carrie can too.

He's not sure she'll handle it well. He loves her beyond measure but even he can see that just maybe giving her everything she's ever wanted spoiled her. Inheriting her mother's temper doesn't help matters.

And he worries about her.

* * *

There is another great fear in his life. It's been an underlying baseline all through his success but with Rose back in his life, it's gotten more insistent. The fear of discovery.

And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, it's his own actions that finally tip Rose off that maybe his immensely popular first album wasn't all his creation.

Trevor's always known she's smart and so it doesn't take much more than some half-veiled comments for her to piece it all together.

As expected, she's not happy and screams so in his face.

“You didn't even give them any credit! Just taking the praise all yourself!”

He winces. “It … kinda snowballed. How should I have known it'd be such a hit?”

“Of course it would be a hit! Obviously Luke was very talented. I should have recognised his style from the demo!”

“Could you maybe lower your voice? The kids …“

Rose huffs but reigns her fury into a lower register. She crosses her arms, glaring at him, and though she's a lot smaller than he is, he finds himself taking a step back.

“You recorded 'My name is Luke,’ for God's sake,” Rose hisses. “I thought it was a nice tribute to him or something but he actually wrote it, didn't he?”

Trevor can only nod, shame-faced.

“How could you, Bobby?”

It's the only time she's called him that after their first meeting.

“They were asking for more and …” He shrugs helplessly and takes another step back as she points an angry finger at his chest.

“You could have shared the credit at least! Told the world whose music you were playing.”

“They're dead, Rose! They're dead. They left and they don't care.”

“And how convenient that is for you, isn't it? Not having to share the money!”

“Don't—” he bites his tongue and turns away, trying to calm his rising temper with the breathing exercises Dr. Crystal taught him. “This isn't about the money.”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

“It's not like I kept it all! I'll have you know that I give generously to programs helping street kids. I sponsor music programs at schools that couldn't afford it otherwise. I … I give back, okay, Rose? I do.”

Rose just scoffs.

“Trying to wash your conscience clear.”

“Trying to help people like me, who don't have anyone, who just wanna live their dreams and make music.”

“And tell me,  _ Trevor _ . Did your generosity also extend to the guys' families as well? Because they sure lost out on a lot of money in inherited royalties.”

Now it's his time to scoff. “No. And you know what? I'm sorry for everything else but not that because they don't deserve a single penny for the way they treated them. If it'd been up to them, they would have crushed all our dreams. Did you know Alex was gay? Well, guess whose parents weren't very happy with that! Reggie's parents didn't give a fuck about him. I wonder how long it took them to figure out that he'd run off. They probably didn't even notice that he was gone, what with all the fighting they did! And as for Luke's parents, so appalled that their precious son had started a rock band, they didn't even care whether he was any good at what he did. That this was his dream.”

“They lost their kids, Bobby!”

“And money would have made that better? If just one of them, just one, had treated us better, none of this would have happened, Rose! They would still be alive!”

“Fine, maybe they didn't deserve it but that doesn't change the fact that you’re still a coward, a liar, and a _fraud!_ ”

“Daddy?”

They both turn towards the sound of Carrie's frightened and confused voice. Neither of them had heard her. Rose, at least, has the decency to look ashamed.

Trevor's veins run cold and he takes two hasty steps to Carrie's side.

“It's okay, baby girl. Just a grown-up argument.”

But Carrie's twelve now, no longer a little girl to be mollified with reassuring words. She narrows her eyes and stares at Rose, whom she has always been very fond of until now.

Something's shifting, something's cracking, and Trevor is unable to hold the pieces together anymore.

“We'd better be going,” Rose mumbles behind him and goes in search of her own daughter.

* * *

Rose doesn't come back.

Trevor has no idea how to kit the breach between them other than publicly announcing his fraud. But he isn’t sure that it would help, only knows that it would hurt Carrie and she's already hurt enough.

He hoped that their argument wouldn't tear Carrie and Julie asunder, too. He knows Rose isn't mean enough to extend her disappointment fueled dislike of him towards his daughter, innocent in all of this. But though he prods her, Carrie proves stubborn. And loyal.

He'd weep—and does so in the privacy of his own room—because she sticks unquestioningly to her loser of a father. She has no idea why Rose accused him, heard only the last few words, but it's enough to shift her whole foundation, purging Rose and Julie and all the Molinas from her life.

He tries to intervene, tries to make it clear to her that while he and Rose may be in disagreement, that it has nothing to do with Julie and that neither he nor Rose want them to break up their friendship but Carrie is relentless.

He also, secretly, thinks she's becoming a bitch. But he knows it's from love and loyalty, from betrayal and so he just winces a bit, tries to reign her in a little, but never has the heart to fully stop her. Just watches her build her armor so she doesn't get hurt again, standing helpless by the sideline.

* * *

When Rose falls sick, he tries to call her but though her voice sounds weak, there's still steel at the back of it when she tells him, in effect, to fuck himself.

Her words are nicer, of course, but he gets the message. Still, he sends copious amounts of dahlias first to their house and then to the hospital, as if that could make anything better.

He hopes that seeing Julie suffer will make Carrie back off, maybe even save their friendship but they're too far gone. So he just tells her to give the girl some slack and hopes for the best.

At the funeral, he keeps to the back, Carrie by his side, dragged there against her will. It's one of the few times he's overruled her and she scowled all the way to the graveyard but now stands solemnly beside him.

A small part of him whispers that he should feel relief because it's obvious that, although she resented him, she still took his secret to her grave. Probably hoping he'd do the right thing himself one day. Although he isn't even sure what that would look like.

But most of him just grieves that he's now lost the last part connecting him to Sunset Curve. The last good part, and he feels untethered.

“Say hello to them for me, will you? Tell them I'm sorry,” he murmurs under his breath and finally turns away from the grave and the mourning family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank merihn for getting the last two chapters ahead of schedule ;D


	5. The Band is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we catch up with canon...

Rose has been gone for a year now and Trevor still misses her and wishes that he'd been able to make things right again with her, but life has gone back to normal, never waiting for death. His hopes that Carrie and Julie will reconnect have come to nothing though he hasn't given up yet that, with more maturity, Carrie will realise how childish it is to cling to her resentment.

And he has to admit, at least to himself in the quiet moments, that it feels good to have his secret secure again. What Rose couldn't understand was that revealing it now would just lead to more pain than good. It would disappoint his fans, and more importantly, it would hurt Carrie. As long as it stayed buried, it wasn't hurting anyone.

But then a name appears in the condensation on his mirror, and it's not his current name, nor just any of the other ones he's worn and discarded, but Bobby.

And there aren't any people left who know that name. Not living people at least.

He tries to explain it away. Maybe it's just another nervous breakdown because now his secret is safe, he feels more guilty again for having it in the first place.

It can't be anything but his overactive imagination. Because if there are such things as ghosts, then they would have haunted him a long time ago, surely. Even Rose wouldn't have waited a year, though she doesn't strike him as the revengeful spirit kind of woman, even though she died on bad terms with him.

And then he hears Julie singing from Carrie's laptop and sees _them_. 

He's sure, again, that it just has to be a coincidence that the hologram guys in Julie's band look exactly like his old Sunset Curve mates. It's a coincidence, a trick of his mind, and the screen is very small, after all.

_ This can't be happening. _

Luke, Reggie, and Alex have not come back from the dead to form a band with Rose's daughter.

But he has to know.

* * *

Trevor isn’t quite sure why he dragged his complaining daughter to the Orpheum with him. He just knows he can’t face this alone.

Of all the clubs he played back when his career was taking off, this is the one he refused to play in. He fabricated some story of disappointment and resentment when his manager insisted and though he was close to losing his deal, he never budged.

He has been back though, of course. Watching other bands play, remembering the feeling of standing on that stage, of looking over at Luke next to him, singing his heart out, of Alex behind them, giving his steady support, of Reggie rocking out at the opposite end, feeling the energy ripple between them all and marvelling that they had let him into their band.

He tried to dispel the ghosts but never managed entirely and this night, the memories rush back with a vengeance.

After the obligatory greetings of too many people he cares nothing about, he’s glad when he can finally seek refuge in his seat, sinking lower, trying to prepare for … what?

The wait is torture but sweet relief at the same time. Because for now, he can still believe that it’s all just some weird mix-up his brain concocted. That he isn’t about to see them again.

Because it’s not possible.

When Julie ascends the stage, he can tell that she is nervous but determined, spots the plastic dahlia she gently lays down on the keyboard, and wishes Rose was here to see her daughter.

Whatever else happens tonight, he knows she would be proud. And though it feels like betrayal to his beautiful daughter by his side, so is he.

He hasn’t heard her play and sing in a long time and the speakers of Carrie’s laptop did her voice no justice. She’s breathtaking.

And though she tries to hide it, he can tell that Carrie thinks so too.

He almost relaxes, almost starts to purely enjoy the song and then—

It’s Alex as he remembers him. Not the clothes, but the smile, the pure joy, and Trevor’s heart shatters.

It’s Alex!

He doesn’t care how, or why, he is here.  _ He is here! _

And then Reggie appears, and he, again, looks just like he remembers him. His wardrobe’s new, too, but what does it matter when he grins at Julie the way he used to grin at Trevor? When the movement of his fingers is so familiar to him?

It’s them!

He holds his breath, waits, _wants_ , and finally, Luke flickers onto stage.

When he sings, everything in Trevor hurts, nails scraping out his insides because he’s  _ missed _ them! God how he missed them.

And they’re better than they’ve ever been. Happier, more in tune with each other and Julie fits right in. Little Julie, Rose’s daughter, and he knows,  _ this _ is the band they were always meant to be. He’d just been a cameo. A guest appearance. Never real.

Sunset Curve is dead.

But Luke, Alex, and Reggie are here and dread starts to encrust his cells with ice because if they’re here, that means they’re also angry.

Because he was the last standing and he stole everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys liked this story. Unexpected as it was, I really enjoyed writing it and even if canon contradicts _everything_ when (not if!) season 2 comes out, I don't care and will happily live in AU land ;D


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